The echo of footsteps rang through the polished corridors of the Ministry of Magic's lower levels. Dim magical sconces flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows as a tall man in grey robes made his way past enchanted filing cabinets and sealed vault doors.
"Vector," someone called from behind.
He turned his head. "Yes?"
"We're heading out," the younger wizard said, adjusting his robes. "You going to make your report?"
Vector nodded, suppressing a sigh. "Yes. He's expecting me."
The wizard gave him a wary look. "I just came from there. He's in one of his moods—worse than usual."
Vector's stomach knotted. "Why?"
"The Irish Mountains turned up nothing. Again."
Vector grimaced. "Wonderful."
He continued on until he reached a tall, matte-black door at the end of the hallway. There was no nameplate—there never had been—but everyone in the Department of Magical mysteries knew exactly who worked behind it.
Vector hesitated, smoothed his robes, then knocked.
A cold voice replied from within. "Enter."
He stepped inside.
The office was cold. Not physically—though the air always felt unnaturally still—but cold in atmosphere. The walls were lined with shelves of old documents and cursed artifacts, all neatly arranged. At the far end of the room sat a desk carved from oak, behind which a man rested his gloved hands atop a stack of parchment.
His eyes, sharp and cold , rose to meet Vector's.
"Speak, Vector," the man said. "I trust you're not here to waste my time like the others. I'm already irritated."
Vector swallowed hard, stepping forward and laying a leather-bound file on the desk.
"This… this is the report you requested, sir. From Gringotts."
The man arched an eyebrow. "You got them to cooperate?"
"It cost us nearly eighty thousand Galleons in extraction and bribe fees, sir. But yes. We were able to access the information."
The man leaned forward slightly. "I presume you used the budget donation from Lucius Malfoy?"
"Yes, sir. Entirely funded by Mr. Malfoy's contributions to the 'Special Recovery Initiative'."
"Good," the man said, voice low and smooth. "Now explain."
Vector opened the file, revealing a photo and several documents. "We were tracing the activity on the vault registered to a woman named Elara Black."
That name stirred something in the man's eyes. Not emotion—something colder. Calculation.
Vector continued. "There were signs of magical activity tied to the vault—runes and blood-keyed enchantments. Eventually, we found the name of the person currently accessing it: a student. Hogwarts. Fourth year. Gryffindor."
He hesitated before saying the name.
"Cael Vale."
A long silence followed.
The man's gaze dropped to the file. "Cael Vale…"
"Do you have any information about his residence?" he asked without looking up.
Vector cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the floor. "We attempted to track his location outside of Hogwarts over the past weeks. But we lost him. Multiple times. He… disappears, sir. Even our best magical tracers couldn't find a lead. It's as though he's untraceable."
Now the man did look up.
"And yet… he attends school as normal."
"Yes, sir. We have confirmation from within Hogwarts. He's a registered student."
The man said nothing.
Vector, sensing he was dismissed, bowed quickly and retreated from the office, shutting the black door behind him.
Alone now, the man reached for the file.
He opened it slowly, like a priest preparing a ritual.
There was a photograph tucked inside—a candid image of a boy with dark hair, eyes half-lidded with thought, wearing the red and gold of Gryffindor. The photo moved slightly, showing the boy turning his head, blinking once.
The man exhaled slowly through his nose. His fingers tightened slightly on the parchment.
"Elara…" he whispered.
He stared at the photo for a long moment.
"You look just like her…"
He reached for another page and began to read.
"So… you accessed her vault. You went through the protections. That means she told you. Or at least… left something behind."
He sat back in his chair, eyes never leaving the photo.
"When you ran from me, Elara, you tried to hide him. You smuggled him into Hogwarts of all places… where you knew I'd eventually look."
Another pause.
"So… this boy is the key."
His hand dropped the parchment. The edges curled slightly under the heat of his fingers.
The man stood from his desk, the long coat of his uniform rustling as he turned toward the towering window at the back of his office. Rain streaked down the glass. In the distance, far beyond the Thames and the city's glittering skyline, the dark mountains of the north loomed in shadow.
"I suppose this is how you wanted it," he murmured. "Always two steps ahead. Always playing the long game."
He turned back to the desk, gaze falling once more on the photograph.
"So… Cael Vale."
A thin, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
"It's time you met your father."
And with that, the room returned to silence.